


It Must Have Been The Mistletoe

by sarahliz1925



Category: Revolution (TV)
Genre: Blackout verse, Charloe Christmas, Christmas, F/M, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-15
Updated: 2016-01-15
Packaged: 2018-05-14 04:55:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,188
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5730265
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sarahliz1925/pseuds/sarahliz1925
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The holidays are here, and this year for Bass that means getting in the Christmas spirit. It seems that Charlie, however, may need a bit of convincing. Written for GSC's Very Charloe Christmas.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It Must Have Been The Mistletoe

**Author's Note:**

  * For [hayj](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hayj/gifts).



[](http://s666.photobucket.com/user/sarahbeth1925/media/itmusthavebeenthemistletoe_zpsj1cafpft.jpg.html)

This was written for the wonderful haj for the Very Charloe Christmas exchange. I hope you enjoy it!! And thanks to Lemon for the assist!

~~~

Charlie was just settling in on the couch one afternoon with a book she had found in a safe house a few weeks before; she had finally found a free moment after several weeks of craziness and was at last going to have a few hours to herself to relax and read. She kicked her feet up on the coffee table and tried to get comfortable on the worn down couch in the living room. She was just getting to the good part when she was jostled out of her reverie by a combat boot rudely nudging her feet.

“Hey, Bookworm. Dog-ear that page. I need your help.”

Charlie dropped the book into her lap and looked up with annoyance. In front of her stood Sebastian Monroe, an ax slung over his shoulder and an uncharacteristically cheery smirk on his face. So much for an afternoon of peace.

“What do you want, Monroe?”

“It’s December 24th,” he announced obviously. Charlie stared at him in irritation, waiting for him to make a point.

“So?”

“So, get your ass up. We’re hunting Christmas trees.”

Charlie rolled her eyes. “Bass I’ve been trying to read this book for two weeks. Find your own damn tree.”

Bass nudged her feet with his boot again, this time pushing them on to the floor. 

“Miles and Rachel are out getting all this crap to deck the halls and they left me in charge of the tree, but no way am I freezing my nuts off being all holly jolly out there chopping down a piece of sticky, smelly, holiday cheer all by myself. So get your jacket and move your ass, because when they get home there’s going to be a recently dead Virginia Pine in that corner and you are going to help me drag it in here.”

After that speech there was no arguing with him. Half an hour later they were out in the woods searching for a tree that Bass found acceptable enough to chop down and drag home. After he turned down tree number ten and they continued on, Charlie spoke up. “Why do you care what the tree looks like, anyway? You don’t even live here.”

“Miles trusted me to do a job. I intend on doing it right.”

Charlie rolled her eyes. “So I guess that means this one is unacceptable,” she supposed, pointing to a pine tree about eight feet away. It was leaning off to one side, sparse branches on the bottom and a few crooked branches sticking out all over. Bass stopped in his tracks and walked over to inspect it. He circled the tree several times, scrutinizing it carefully.

“This isn’t too bad.”

“Are you kidding me?” she asked incredulously. 

“It’s a Charlie Brown tree,” he announced happily.

“A what now?”

“You don’t remember Charlie Brown?” Bass took the ax in both hands and began to swing at the base of the tree. “A Charlie Brown Christmas?” 

“I was five.” She leaned back against a tall oak tree and crossed her arms, watching Bass exert himself trying to chop down the tree.

Bass let the ax rest on his foot for a moment. “Charlie Brown. Little bald kid? Terrible luck. Dog named Snoopy?”

“I remember Snoopy,” Charlie recalled wistfully. “I had one of those toys, the soft ones?”

“A stuffed animal?”

“Yeah, and it was white with black ears and feet and a black nose. My dad used to call him Snoopy.”

“That’s him.” Bass went back to swinging at the tree, bringing it down after a few more blows. “My sister had one of those toys,” he recalled nostalgically. Charlie smiled sadly. Bass never talked much about his family, especially his sisters. A bit of a twinge went through her at the comparison though; she didn’t like the idea that she reminded him of his little sister.

“Okay,” she changed the subject, “So why it is called a ‘Charlie Brown tree’?”

Bass lifted the truck of the tree and motioned for Charlie to lift the other end. Together they carried the shrub back towards the house.

“So they used to play this cartoon on TV, and Charlie Brown picks out this pathetic little tree, and all his friends laugh at him for it. But he loves that little tree. And in the end his friends decorate it and they get all sappy and sing a Christmas carol and merry freaking Christmas. Anyway, Miles and I used to watch that cartoon together every year at this time.”

“So that explains this pathetic little tree.”

“Hey, all it needs is a little love.”

They dragged the tree through the front door and nailed the bottom of it to a crude stand Bass had fashioned out of a couple of two-by-fours and an old railroad spike.

“There. Perfect. Beautiful dead tree now has a nice home in the living room. Can I go back to my book now?” Charlie begged.

“What are you talking about? We have to decorate it.”

“We have to what?” The exasperation was clear in her voice. She had done what he had asked and helped him chop the damn thing down; well, she had gone outside and watched, anyway. What more did he want from her?

“Didn’t you ever have a Christmas tree, Charlotte?” he asked in disbelief. Decorating the tree had always been his favorite part of Christmas. Trudging out into the snow to track down the best tree, watching his dad chop it down, tying it up to the roof of the car and singing carols on the way home; those parts were great to be sure. But nothing beat unpacking ornaments with his mom in front of the fire while his dad strung the lights and then carefully placing them, one by one, until the tree magically came to life. As he got older the tradition changed, and soon he was the one stringing up the lights while his little sisters unpacked the ornaments and his parents looked on. It was a fond memory.

“No, we didn’t. Danny had asthma, remember?”

Bass looked away in shame. He remembered Miles talking about Danny being sick as a little boy, but he hadn’t seen it first-hand. Even when he had been keeping the kid prisoner he hadn’t witnessed an attack, although Neville reported that Danny was just as resourceful as his uncle; he had once faked an attack in an attempt to escape. Bass wondered if Charlie knew that. She would be proud. 

“I’m sorry, Charlie.”

“Look, I didn’t say it to make you feel bad, Bass. But December 25th is just another day on the calendar for me now. So you’ll have to forgive me if I don’t feel like getting all ‘ho, ho, ho’ about it.” She settled back in on the couch and flipped her book back open. Bass couldn’t help but smirk at her reference,

“At least you know who Santa Claus is.”

“One year my dad had Aaron dress up in this old red suit and hand out wooden toys the carpenter had made to the kids in our village. It was supposed to boost morale at the beginning of the winter or something,” she explained. “I don’t remember much about it except that Aaron kept complaining about how itchy the hat was and sneaking drinks out of his flask when he thought no one was looking.”

Bass smiled at her wistfully. He tried to imagine a ten year old Charlie hiding behind a barn somewhere giggling while Aaron stole sips of whatever booze they had out in the country and scratched at an itchy old Santa suit. She pretty much looked like the same Charlie who sat in front of him now, just smaller. Somehow he couldn’t image her as an innocent little girl like Angela and Cynthia.

“What are your staring at?” she accused, pulling him out of his reverie.

He shook his head. “What did you get? For a toy?”

“I didn’t,” she negated casually. “My father had Mitchell make me my first crossbow instead.” Bass chuckled. That sounded just about right. She looked up from her book to stare back at him and sighed. “This Christmas thing is really important to you, isn’t it?” He nodded affirmatively. “Why?”

Bass thought back over all his Christmases past. He remembered him and Miles watching the specials on TV as kids, decorating that tree and shaking the presents under it, trying to guess what they were. He remembered waiting impatiently while his mother baked cookies in the kitchen and watching football with his dad. As he got older, he remembered getting caught under the mistletoe for the first time with the girl who would become his high school sweetheart, and then a few years later with Emma. He remembered coming home from basic training to spend Christmas with his parents and little sisters, who had waited to decorate the tree until he came home and were nothing but excited to see him and open the gifts he had brought home for them. Years after the blackout, when the Monroe Republic had been established, he remembered Christmas being a time of joy in Philadelphia. The city was decorated and people seemed happy. “They feel safe again, Bass,” Miles had said to him one Christmas Eve. “People want to celebrate. We did that.” Bass wasn’t sure if Miles had been right or not that night, but after so many years of war and suffering, it had been nice to enjoy a few Christmases of peace and calm.

“Charlotte, no matter what happens in the world, Christmas still comes by every year. It might just seem like another day on the calendar or another moment in time but it’s one we can mark. We can use it to make memories. We can use it for, I don’t know, posterity.” He sat down on the coffee table in front of her. “Maybe it’s a ridiculous idea and come next week it won’t have mattered one bit. But whenever this time of year comes around I am able to look back and remember what I was doing at Christmas, no matter what else was going on.” He sighed and looked over his shoulder at their miserable little tree. “When my family was alive, nothing was more special to us than decorating that tree. I waited for that all year. It was a memory that mattered. And even when Miles and I were running the Republic we still made sure to take the time and put up a few ornaments ourselves. It wouldn’t have been Christmas without it. So do you want to know why it’s important to me, Charlotte? Tradition. Maybe it’s stupid, but it’s a tradition.”

Charlie watched Bass for a moment. He really seemed serious about this. 

“Fine,” she agreed. “For the sake of tradition.” She put her book back down and stood, walking back over to the pathetic looking tree and putting her hands on her hips. “So how exactly are we supposed to decorate this thing anyhow?”

“Well, first thing’s first. We’re gonna need some pine cones.”

“Pine cones.”

They headed back towards the door and prepared to bare the cold again in search of supplies.

A few hours later they stood back and admired their handiwork. Their little tree was now adorned with a few pine cones attached to some old string, some ribbons and bows they had found in a box in the attic with some stings of beads and a few old ornaments. All in all they were pretty proud of what they’d accomplished.

“Okay, I’ll give you this one Monroe. It already feels a little cheerier in here,” Charlie confessed.  
Bass was getting ready to rub it in when Miles and Rachel came through the front door.

“Hey, not bad,” Miles exclaimed, dropping a box on the couch and coming over to admire the tree.

“No, I don’t need any help,” Rachel called from the porch, trying to kick her way in with two bags in her hands. Miles rolled his eyes and rushed back to the door. Apparently a morning of shopping had taken its toll, because he look thoroughly done. Bass couldn’t stop himself from laughing. 

“What’s so funny?” Charlie asked quietly.

Bass shook his head. “Shopping with your girlfriend. Some things never change.”

Charlie smirked at him and then turned her attention back to her mother. “So what did you bring home from your big excursion in to town?” Charlie flopped herself down on the couch next to the box and started poking around inside.

“Hey! No peeking!” Rachel scolded. “Wow, Bass. You actually didn’t screw it up,” she half-complimented, gesturing to the tree. Charlie huffed indignantly while he just nodded. 

“I helped too, you know,” Charlie pointed between her mother and the tree and back again, waiting for her to take notice of her exquisite decorating skills – or at least of the fact that it didn’t look that bad. 

“Nicely done, Charlie.”

“So? Did you bring me presents?” Charlie nosed her way into the box again.

“These are decorations,” Rachel explained, reaching in to pull out some of her finds from around the city. “A menorah for Aaron.”

“That,” Miles objected, sitting in the corner and unlacing his boots, “Is a candelabra. With two extra candlesticks thrown in.”

“Well you try finding a real menorah post-blackout!” Miles hung his head and Bass stifled another giggle. This obviously wasn’t the first time they’d had this discussion. “Anyway, they had a real dreidel, which was something. And there was this,” Rachel continued proudly, pulling a green shrub out of the box next.

“What is that?” Charlie asked, taking the fake plant from her mother.

“Mistletoe? Are you serious?” Bass moaned.

“I thought it would bring on some holiday cheer.”

“And what about you, Kris Kringle? What have you brought the good girls and boys?” Bass teased.

“I bagged a turkey on the way home,” Miles bragged, pointing to one of the bags Rachel carried in which was now bleeding on the floor. 

“’Bagged’? With what exactly?” Charlie questioned, nudging the offensive container with her boot. 

“My sidearm.”

“You shot a turkey with your .45?” Bass challenged.

“I was carrying my 9 mm, if you must know,” he corrected.

“Speaking of, I need to get things ready for dinner.” Rachel picked the bird up off the floor and carried it into the kitchen. “I assume the three of you can finish decorating?”

 

Charlie knew that mistletoe had been a bad idea. As soon as they had pulled it out of the box a sense of dread had come over her, and now here she was, stuck in the damn doorway while he fucking _smirked_ down at her. 

The evening had actually been going well. Pricilla and Aaron had joined them for a dinner of turkey stew (Miles really had destroyed that poor bullet-riddled thing) and once they’d given up on Rachel’s eggnog (what a disaster) and Miles had broken out one of his good bottles of whiskey there was laughter and lightheartedness throughout the house. They were sharing good stories and enjoying each other’s company in a fashion that they weren’t quite used to but which was loving and comfortable. They were among family. 

But Charlie just _had_ to go into the kitchen to fill her glass. And Bass just _had_ to fill his immediately after her. And now here they were, trapped in the doorway underneath that stupid plastic plant and Pricilla just _had_ to point out that they had gotten caught together underneath it. 

And now he was _smirking_. 

Charlie felt the world go sideways. Her whole family was standing there watching them. She knew how she was supposed to kiss him. She knew that she should give him a quick peck on the cheek. She knew that at most she should offer him a chaste kiss on the lips. She knew that when she saw him lean in towards her that her arms should stay at her sides. Her lips should have puckered and clamped shut to keep his face as far away from hers as possible. Her body should have been rigid until she felt him move an acceptable distance away. Her eyes should have remained open.

She knew in her mind that she should have done all of those things, but the green of the mistletoe reflecting in her mind and Priscilla’s voice echoing in her ears and the glow of Bass’s eyes reflecting the firelight back at her all combined together and seemed to made all of those obligations and “supposed to’s” obsolete. 

What she really wanted in that moment was to know what it felt like to really kiss Sebastian Monroe, and to have something other than too much whiskey and stupidity to blame it on. She wanted to see exactly how it felt to have him pressed against her, his hands in her hair and the taste of his lips on her tongue. She hated to admit that she had dreamed about kissing Bass — hell, she had dreamed about doing a whole lot more than that — and here was her chance. 

When Bass leaned down to give her the chaste little obligatory kiss that was expected Charlie wrapped her hand around the back of his neck and kissed him back. She hung on just a little too long and kissed just a little too deep and enjoyed it just a little too much. He tasted like whiskey and smelled like pine needles and felt like coming home to a warm fire and a comfortable bed at the end of a long day – safe and secure and reliable. 

When she pulled away everyone in the room looked shocked at what she had done. Bass looked like he could have continued kissing her forever if he wasn’t too busy questioning her motives. Charlie held close to him for another moment. Heat radiated from both of them, crashing from one into the other like a bolt of lightning striking dry brush on a hot day. His breath on her face was intoxicating, and she considered going in for another kiss…

Until she remembered that they were very much not alone in the room. She looked around at everyone and considered jumping away from him like he was a little boy with cooties, but thought better of it. Might as well make light of the situation before her mother and Miles dragged her outside for an incredibly uncomfortable conversation and the evening was ruined.

She threaded her hands through the hair on the back of Bass’s neck and then teasingly patted him on the head before turning back to the crowd in the living room and cocking a guileless eyebrow.

“What? You told me to kiss him,” she joked. 

Priscilla was the first to begin giggling happily, the rest quickly following suit.

Only Bass could tell from the fire that was left on his lips that she wasn’t really teasing.


End file.
